Hey, Cas
by TheTryHard8
Summary: Castiel is dead. Dean's best friend is gone. The celestial flame he called Cas has died out. Dean needs time to work through this, but in his twenty four hour wake he's come to conclusions that were better left in the shadows. (A/N: Just what I thought would happen in the season 13 premier before I watched it. Solely based on the preview and a few theories.)


**Just a little something I thought up after seeing the season 13 preview. I wrote and wanted to get this out before season 13 premiered, but I never got time until now. Anyway, here's some more angst and feels for you coming from what I thought would happen/how Dean would act, because we all** ** _totally_** **need that. By the way, I didn't know how to handle Jack's character at the time, so he's kept out of this.**

 **On with the story!**

No words could describe what Dean was feeling now.

He'd been kneeling by his fallen friend's body for hours, not noticing that the sun was coming up by this point. All he could hear (aside from the deafening silence that caused his ears to ring) was "Hey Jude" playing in his mind over and over again.

 _Hey Jude, don't make it bad_

 _Take a sad song and make it better_

 _Remember to let her into your heart_

 _Then you can start to make it better_

How fitting yet ironic this was. A song his mother-no, he couldn't think about her too-would sing to him every night, especially when he had a nightmare or was afraid. It must've become second nature to think of this song when he was truly upset. But, how was he supposed to 'make it better?'

He can't resurrect the dead and he doesn't even know where angels go if they …

 _Hey Jude, don't be afraid_

 _You were made to go out and get her_

 _The minute you let her under your skin_

 _Then you begin to make it better_

Fear…

Dean doesn't really 'fear' anything anymore (except for flying, of course). He's faced Death, God, angels, demons, the list goes on. Yet, he's still afraid of something. Could it be the idea of life without …

Regardless, Dean did let… _him_ … know Dean. Dean let _him_ in. Then why does it still hurt?

 _And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_

 _Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_

 _For well you know that it's a fool that plays it cool_

 _By making his world a little colder_

This part would usually make Dean laugh. He has literally saved the world from numerous apocalypses, some of which he may have started but that's beside the point. Dean, Sam, and _him_ were Team Free Will, saving the world every other Tuesday. So, he actually has carried the world through Hell and back.

Dean has to be stoic and strong. Sam's always been the emotional one, but never Dean. Dean's the perfect soldier, the cold killer, the one that rarely lets people see him when he's vulnerable. But, by some miracle, _he_ broke down his walls and made _his_ presence known, seeing Dean at his weakest to raise him back to his strongest.

Why did it have to hurt so damn much?

 _Hey Jude, don't let me down_

 _You have found her, now go and get her_

 _Remember to let her into your heart_

 _Then you can start to make it better_

Dean Winchester, screw up of the friggin' millennium. The man who constantly lets people down. The man who constantly gets people killed, oftentimes more than once. The man who let his friend die by not adhering to a blood pact. Who breaks a blood pact, anyway? A suicidal ass? Why would he let _him_ do that in the first place? Who the hell wants to face cosmic friggin' consequences?

Cosmic consequences, huh? Well, here they are, so are you happy now, Billie? Because Dean certainly isn't, and this is certainly not going to get better.

 _So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin_

 _You're waiting for someone to perform with_

 _And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do_

 _The movement you need is on your shoulder_

With the sunlight climbing towards him, Dean had started to softly hum at some point, slowly and nearly unnoticeably rocking back and forth to the beat of his unheard song.

But isn't that how it always is? Just him? Sure, there's Sam, but although they're close, they're not the most 'touchy feely' or 'daily emotional sob-story' kind of brothers. Dean's bottled away so much emotion, he's learned to practically live without it. He will make do and carry on, but it's going to be hard, so hard, without his friend and guardian by his side.

" _Hey Cas, don't make it bad_

 _Take a sad song and make it better_

 _Remember to let him under your skin_

 _Then you'll begin to make it better"_

When the light hit _his_ broken and burned wings, Dean began to softly sing to himself, unconsciously changing a word here or there. How was he supposed to fix this? Normally, he just has to stop another apocalypse or take a trip to Hell, but this… This is different. He can't fix this.

There is no getting better.

"Cas…"

The light had finally covered his fallen angel, and with a shaking breath and a near inaudible name, he slowly reached out to Castiel's limp hand. Grabbing it and not feeling the familiar hold, he let a single tear slide out. Quickly wiping it away with his free hand, he picked up Cas' limp form and carried him inside.

* * *

Sam, abandoning the newly born nephilim upon hearing the door open, dashed downstairs.

He saw Dean, setting… _him_ … on the table, and, forcing himself to look away from the body, he asked Dean what he was doing.

"I'm bringing him inside so I can start building a Hunter's Pyre at his wings."

Sam opened his mouth to say something but Dean cut him off by looking at him for the first time since…

"No, Sam. He was a hunter and a… He was a Winchester. He's done so much for this world that he at least deserves a proper burial."

"I was going to ask if you wanted help."

Dean hesitated for a moment. "I… I need to do this on my own. Go back to the nephilim."

Without another word or glance at the body, both men went their separate ways, each to handle his emotions the only way he knew how.

* * *

Dean built the pyre and prepared everything alone, carefully avoiding disturbing the burned scar of _his_ wings the entire time.

They burnt the body by sunset.

Sam had said something about Cas being more than an angel, being a human, or something like that and went inside. Dean wasn't listening or really even paying attention. He stood at the fire, immobile and silent, until the embers burned out. The entire time he wondered why it wasn't him that was burning.

Why he let Cas break the blood pact.

Why he took the Mark of Cain in the first place.

Why did he have to be the one that tortured souls and kickstarted the apocalypse.

If he hadn't even gotten Sam from Stanford they would all be better off.

If he hadn't been around to mess things up…

He let out a sad sigh as the final ember went out.

 **I'm considering writing a part 2 in Sam's perspective if there's enough interest. All criticisms are welcome!**


End file.
